


Subject To Our Surroundings

by gonan



Series: gallavich oneshots [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Homelessness, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, angry flirtation - a gallavich special, no beta we die like men, sir this is a mcdonalds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22559482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonan/pseuds/gonan
Summary: Mickey is hungry. Ian wants to help. They both might have a little bit of a crush.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: gallavich oneshots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629238
Comments: 11
Kudos: 144





	Subject To Our Surroundings

**Author's Note:**

> something short while I work on other things x  
> based off of a scene from Weathering With You

It was just coming up on his second month of living on the street.

It had started raining something awful in the past couple of weeks, forcing him to seek shelter from the cold anywhere he could. Sandy’s house was a no go; despite their supportive attitude towards their own daughter’s sexuality, his aunt and uncle wouldn’t dare get on Terry’s bad side by offering him a place to stay. Not to mention that just last week the library temporarily banned him for getting into it with one of the dumbass soccer moms that had complained to the front desk about him and his meager belongings taking up one of the armchairs. So, shit out of luck with no other options left, he scrounged together what money he had and bought the cheapest item available at the McDonald’s down the block.

It became a routine, then - he came in every morning with his backpack and a few rumpled dollar bills to buy some chicken nuggets or a small bag of fries. It was never much, never sated his aching stomach for long, but for a few precious hours he could escape from the chill of the downpour raging outside of those tall glass windows.

Some of the staff were more understanding than others. The younger ones didn’t care, and the ones that knew what it was like to have nowhere else to go went easy on him, only asking him to leave when their manager made it clear that she wanted him gone. But there was this one misanthropic old bitch with a god complex or fuck knows what else that always gave him the boot the second he was finished eating. He’d learned to slow himself down for that reason despite his hunger, and thankfully he managed most days to keep warm enough to be able to brave the weather come nighttime.

Today one of the employees - obviously still a high schooler as well - was bustling about, smiling at passersby as he mopped the floor around the register. Mickey’s eyes lingered on the friendly curve of his lips and the fit of the ugly standard issue red polo shirt across his chest and upper arms. The kid’s uniform visor flattened his hair against his forehead, but small tufts curled up around his ears from the heat of his sweat. 

Mickey clenched his fists, wrenching his gaze down to the tabletop. This was exactly what had gotten him into trouble in the first place. He’d been stealing glances at the gangly redhead ever since he started coming here - he was one of the more understanding workers, and whenever he was at the front Mickey could rest assured knowing that he wouldn’t get kicked out for a good while. A sick feeling of shame settled in his gut at his inability to control his wandering thoughts. It felt like he was taking advantage of the stranger’s kindness, using it as an excuse to justify the funny tickle in his throat that formed when the boy met his eyes before he could avert them.

The words came back to him like an echo.

_Cocksucker_

_No son of mine_

_I’ll kill you_

_Get the fuck out of my sight_

His father’s voice haunted him even from miles away. He crumpled a napkin under his bony fingers, teeth finding purchase on the tip of his plastic straw. The cool water flowing through it did nothing to soothe the burning in his chest.

He wished he still had a phone. He wanted desperately to talk to someone. His sister, his cousin - anyone that could drown out the noise in his head with their own stories of shit grades and fist fights.

But as it was, he had little more than his racing thoughts to keep him company through the long day in his corner of the restaurant. Mickey managed to stick around until closing, until it was just him and the young employee left in the building. He saw the kid go back toward the fryer just a minute ago - probably cleaning off the grease and preparing things for tomorrow.

So imagine his surprise when instead of coming back to shoo him out of the store, the guy hops over the counter with a cardboard Big Mac box and deposits it right onto his empty tray.

“Fuck is this, carrot top?” Mickey snapped, immediately on the offensive. 

The boy didn’t seem fazed by his outburst, using the knuckle of his index finger to scoot the cardboard container closer to him. “I noticed you’re in here a lot. You don’t buy much though, thought you might still be hungry,” his bright eyes caught on Mickey’s, green like pools of still swamp water. Those words that should piss him off instead felt soothing as they settled into the knots that threaded through his tense shoulders.

Mickey lowered his hackles only slightly, accepting the offering with greedy hands. The burger was still warm, and the first bite brought an audible groan from somewhere deep and starving inside him. He hadn’t had this much food to eat since he’d left home. 

As the redhead stood patiently over him, he realized that the kid was waiting for him to say something else. He swallowed, not sure why he suddenly felt pressured to explain himself. “Yeah, well my fuckhead dad kicked me out and I ain’t got a job, so I don’t have many options, now do I?”

He made quick work of the burger, aware of both the clock ticking past closing time and the gnawing pit in his stomach. While he ate the employee hovered around his table like some kind of freaky pale ghost. Mickey’s brows furrowed. For the first time, he allowed himself to read the name tag pinned to the front of that cheap red shirt: _Hi, My Name is Ian._

It was nice to put a name to the face, he supposed. It was better than “the hot one” anyway, which he wouldn’t admit was what he’d been calling the boy in the privacy of his own mind.

But he looked like he was chomping at the bit to ask him something, and that was never good in Mickey’s case. There was nothing in his life that had an easy answer to it.

That didn’t stop his new goddamn shadow, though. He blurted out his question before he could stop to look once more at the scary motherfucker he was addressing it to. Mickey couldn’t decide if it made the poor sap brave or moronic.

“Why’d he kick you out?” Ian hesitated at the dark expression on Mickey’s face. Maybe he did have an ounce of self preservation left after all. “I mean. If you don’t mind me asking.”

Mickey watched him carefully, trying to assess whether the guy would turn out to be every bit the homophobic asshole as every other guy on the south side or if he was as much of a fruitcake as he looked. But seeing as he really had nothing to lose at this point, he swallowed his last bite and thumbed lightly at his nose, saying, “Caught me with the neighbor kid.”

And it seemed that he didn’t need to elaborate, which was fortunate since he wasn’t planning to anyway. Ian released a long breath above him, taking one careful step towards him and setting a twitching hand on the counter near his tray. Mickey watched those freckled fingers tap out a familiar slow beat with close-cut nails. 

“Shit. I’m sorry,” he said. The slight flush hiding under those freckles made anger flare up inside Mickey. He’s the one that had asked, and now he had the gall to be embarrassed at the answer? Fuck him.

“Don’t fuckin’ pity me,” Mickey said lowly, every ounce of venom he could muster injected into the sentence. He didn’t need anyone looking down on him, much less bozo the friendly fuckin’ clown. Everyone he walked past pitied him. He was tired of it.

Ian shook his head, a sad smile crossing his face as he stared off at the searing neon lights lining the streets of Chicago just outside the rain-soaked window. “I’m not,” he assured him. A playful nudge hit his shoulder, but when Mickey glared up at the offending elbow its owner’s gaze was still off in outer space. “My dad doesn’t even care enough about me to care who I fuck.”

Mickey scoffed. “Must be nice,” he said, ripping off bits of his bun and sticking them into his mouth.

Ian shrugged. The hand that he’d placed on Mickey’s table left to return to the front pocket of his apron. Moments went by in soured silence, until just as he thought Ian would leave him alone to get the shop keys the boy spoke up.

“You know I’m not exactly rich either, right? Everything I make here goes toward keeping a roof over me and my family’s heads. But thankfully, unlike you, a few dollars here and there don’t mean life or death for me,” he pressed his thumb and finger together and brought them up to his mouth. They sat on the edge of his lip for a second while he seemed to debate whether to chew on the torn skin around his nails or continue speaking. He finally pulled the hand back down to his side and soldiered on. “I was just trying to be nice, y’know? I know people around here aren’t really used to that.”

Now Mickey felt like a dick. Well, he usually did, but this was the first time he felt sort of bad about it. “Yeah, whatever,” and then, quieter than before, he mumbled out a quick, “thanks.”

The smile he got in return was just as soft, the corners of Ian’s mouth pressed down sheepishly. And hell - the dopey fucker wasn’t making it easy for Mickey to ignore the warmth that any lick of positive attention from the guy spread through his cold body. 

“Don’t think I caught your name,” Ian said, yet again watching him as he polished off the last of his burger. His eyes shone wide and curious on their bed of freckles. Mickey paused his efforts to pick any remaining lettuce from the box to let himself scan that eager face.

“Mickey,” he said, smiling for the first time in what felt like ages. “And I’m not fuckin’ tellin’ you what it’s short for.”

Mickey didn’t think he’d ever heard something that more accurately fit the word _giggle_ before that moment. The sound was loud and it ripped through his chest like a bullet with the force of its novelty. Ian’s stupid little musical laugh could probably cure cancer or some shit, but maybe that was just Mickey and his stupid crush talking.

“Okay. Mickey. Just Mickey. I’m Ian,” he said, offering to take away Mickey’s tray. 

“Yeah, I got that, Ronald McDonald,” Mickey said teasingly, reaching out to tap on his name tag. He relinquished the tray with a small nod of thanks, standing up and beginning the mental preparation required to brace for a long night of sleeping uncomfortably on cold asphalt. He hadn’t let himself cry about it yet. He kind of stupidly thought that if he did, it meant that everything his dad said about him was right. But tears were burning just behind his eyes now, only kept at bay by the harsh sting of his teeth digging into his lower lip. 

“Hey,” Ian brushed a hand over his arm, wordlessly urging him to look up. When he did, Ian wore a concerned expression. His fingers lightly plucked at the sleeve of Mickey’s coat. “You gonna be okay out there tonight? You can borrow my jacket if you need it.”

Mickey scoffed, turning his eyes to the ceiling in hopes that the gravity would drag his tears back behind his sockets. He felt a gentle hand grip his wrist. 

“I mean it. I’ve got other ones. Most of them are hand-me-downs and my brother’s got fuckin’ awful taste, but they’re not so bad,” that drew a short laugh from Mickey despite himself. He really wanted to refuse the offer. But if he was honest, he hadn’t been able to grab a waterproof jacket from his house before he left and the weeks of rain had soaked through his canvas jacket and into his bones. He passed out from the cold most nights even if he was able to find a spot sheltered from the torrent.

“What about you?” He fought weakly against the gesture, not strong enough to outright refuse. From somewhere deep inside him he hoped that Ian would think better of lending his coat to a stranger and revoke his offer. But even deeper down, where his battered heart shivered but still beat nonetheless, he desperately hoped that he wouldn’t.

“I’ll be fine. I take the L most of the way home anyway,” Ian insisted. Sensing that this wasn’t a fight that Mickey would easily give up, he took hold of his elbow and steered him along towards the staff lockers. Even through two layers of fabric the contact sent sparks skittering along the length of his arm.

Ian stretched to pick up a set of keys hanging from a metal hook on the wall before continuing on to stop at a sturdy wooden coatrack next to the lockers. His jacket was big, built to fit his larger frame, and it was ribbed with puffy navy fabric that made Mickey warmer just looking at it. Ian took it off the rack and peeled an orange hoodie from inside of it, swinging it over his own shoulders before holding the jacket out for Mickey.

“You got a phone in there? A wallet?” He asked.

“In here,” Ian patted the pocket of his hoodie, then made a performance of clearing his throat ostentatiously. “Monsieur,” he bowed slightly at the hip, prompting a snort from the boy next to him.

“Fuckin’ weirdo,” Mickey said, the words lacking heat. He snatched the jacket dangling from those spindly little Jack Skellington fingers and shrugged it on. A sigh left him immediately at the comfort it brought to his freezing skin. He burrowed into it, zipping up the front and flipping the hood up over his head. The sleeves and shoulders engulfed him.

“After you,” Ian swept out an arm grandly in the direction of the double doors. Mickey rolled his eyes, jabbing him with a padded elbow as he walked past him to weather the storm in the veritable parka.

He had just pushed open the handle on one of the doors when Ian’s voice stopped him.

“Mickey?” When Mickey paused in the doorway, Ian swirled the ring of keys nervously around his finger. “If you want, how ‘bout I treat you to something somewhere a little nicer than this?” His eyes crinkled with mirth as he gestured around at the general lack of ambiance that the fluorescent lighting and plastic chairs gave off. 

Mickey bristled. His pride was already wounded from having to borrow the guy’s jacket. He didn’t think he could stand himself if he took Ian up on another offer for free food. “I don’t want your charity, man.”

“It’s not charity,” Ian insisted. Mickey opened his mouth to call bullshit, but was cut off with a firm, “It’s a date. And I’ve heard that it’s customary for the person doing the asking to be the one who pays,” he stared Mickey down meaningfully, dropping a wink at the end of his sentence.

Heat rushed to his cheeks immediately. Jesus.

Mickey coughed, shifting in the large jacket. The loud crinkling noises it made helped him stall for another moment as he lifted his arms like an angry penguin to stop them. When he met Ian’s eyes again the boy was very clearly holding back a laugh at his stance. He huffed loudly, turning away to start off down the street.

“So is that a yes?” Ian called out after him, deafening the sound of his spare keys jangling against one another as he locked up the store.

“Ask me again tomorrow, firecrotch!” Mickey shot back over his very puffy shoulder. It would take him at least until then to be able to think about having dinner with the putz without turning redder than a tomato.

Ian’s tinkling laughter followed him around the corner until it was drowned out by the pouring rain, lingering in the air like the din of a wind chime. Mickey buried his nose into the collar of the jacket to hide his smile. The fabric inside smelled of weed and sweat and an overpoweringly manly deodorant.

He knew he was going to say yes. Because for the first time in a long time, he finally had something to look forward to. 

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know if you liked it <3 it’s been a tough couple of days but writing has helped me feel a little better about it


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